Newspaper Page Text
BRIGHT COLORS THE RAGE.
Bab Discusses a Great Variety of Woman’s
Belongings.
**Glve Me Any Color, So It’s Red!>’-Bright-Hued Paranoid and Shirt
Waidtn—Curioud DemiK'n* in Umbrella Stick*—Violet in Great De
mand—Knarlldh iloyalty’ Favorite Color—Strength and Influence
of Inanimate Things—How Often Our Idea* Do Chang’d.
New York, March 20.—1 t would seem as
if the fashionable Importers .had said, as
did the country girl of old: “Give me any
color, so it’s red.” Always, of course, al
lowing the wonderful shades of violet,
that if they were less modest, might be
called the rage. If you ask for a neat
parasol, one for general wear, you are
shown a purple moire, lined with green
and decorated on the end of its white wood
•tick by a ball of green jade! If you don’t
fancy this, the salesman proudly brings
forth a fiery-red umbrella, with a stick
ornamented in what he calls: "Cleopatra
like." And by this he means that the
lotus flower in the flat Egyptian drawing,
Is the chosen decoration. The handles of
parasols are decidely gaudy. Sticks of
natural wood are finished with the heads
of cockatoos, of swans and of other grace
ful birds, all highly colored, while in con
trast one finds on other sticks tiny dogs,
funny little kittens, not to mention enor
mous strawberries, gooseberries, grapes
and currants. And all made to look like
nature. I wonder if these sticks represent
the realistic school? Still, in reality, we
wouldn’t tie pets or bunches of fruit to
our parasol handles. But as I said, the
cry seems to have gone out, and over the
earth: "Any color, so long as it’s red.”
Os course, you have seen the red shirt
waists with their staring white collars
and glossy black satin stocks. It seems
strange to have such absolute contrast in
the favorite colors as there is between red
and violet/for who can ever think of the
violet as being anything but quiet and in
good taste; and who can think of bright,
red as being anything but rather exciting
for summer wear? People who study the
effect of color say that one reason the
English soldiers fight so well is because of
their red coats, the color being an incent
ive to bloodshed. I wonder if that’s true!
We all know how easily one can be in
fluenced by a certain costume; so why
shouldn’t it be true? Could pale blue
stand for anything but arbitration? If
you wore the costume of a Quakeress,
wouldn’t you be rather ashamed to let
your angry passions Vise? Could you be
severe and say ugly words if you wore
a white frock, daintily trimmed with rib
bon and lace? But wouldn’t it be easy to
be stubborn and angry and to. quarrel if
you wore a black skirt with a red silk
bodice and carried a red silk parasol?
Some day we’ll all know everything about
the real strength and influence of inani
mate things, then we’ll understand why
we are affected as we are by certain col
ors. by certain contrasts, by certain per
fumes, and by certain atmospheric
changes. Who doesn't know that day
when it's dark, the air is heavy, and ev
ery sorrow you have ever had, or ever ex
pect to have, comes up before you and
makes yod feel yourself a much abused
person? Who hasn’t joyed in the day whe
the air seemed full of a tonic, a very wino
of life, when one almost tried to drink
it, and life,, seemed so well worth living
and 1 are perfectly weak, poor creatures;
we’re affected morally and,mentally, not
* only by what we wear, and what we see,
but by the weather. It is a great deal
easier to be a saint on a bright, clear "day
than it is to be even u half-saint when
everything goes wrong, including the
methods adopted by the rain-drops.
It’s a good thing for' us that the weather
changes, but it’s envious how often our
Idinas change, especially our ideas of beau
ty. ■ How long is it since the Junky, thin,
<aunt-looklng girl, with a thick bang,
trlaed way down on her forehead, her
general get-up decidedly dowdy, was In
fashion? Following her, there came the
extremely trig tailor-made girl; she part
ed her hair exactly in the middle, and
arranged it with such smoothness that
you felt it must hurt her head. Every
button on her frock had a duty to per
form and every one did it. She gave no
thought to the beautiful in her toilet, but
concentrated all her mind on the useful.
***»<. was a comfortable girl to walk with,
to travel with, but a good housekeep
er always felt that she was out of place
when she seated herself on a rose-colored
satin chair. Then, came the girl who was
all things to all hours of the day. I3he was
charming because she was adaptable, but
in the evening she had away of looking
too long upon the rouge pot, and it was
whispered that she understood perfectly
how to make powder stay in place. Now
we have changed again. Our beauty must
toll her hair off her forehead, and arrange
a coiffure as nearly like that worn by the
unfortunate Princess de l.amballe as is
possible And she must be black and
white. Os course, she can’t be black and
white If she has golden hair naturally,
lender these circumstances she must re
gret her Inability, but never even smile at
a bottle of dye. Bleach and henna anti
dye have absolutely been thrown to the
dog*, bdt the dogs are wise In their gen
eration, and do not touch them. For they
conclude sensibly enough, that a time will
come when women will again be foolish
and take thia rubbish unto herself again.
It w’ould seem as if the ideal beauty was
toe one told abhut in the old fairy tale.
You remember It? If you don't, I'll tell
it to you. "There wan once a beautiful
queen, kind, gentle, and loved by all her
subjects. Bhe always set them a good
example. Ono day she was sitting at her
embroidery frame and, as she sewed she
pricked her linger, pricked it so badly
that a drop of bright red blood fell on the
linen she was working. ’Oh,’ she said,
'I wish I had a daughter as white as that
linen, as red as that blood, and as .flack
as my ebony embroidery frame.’ A*nd
her special fairy being in attendance, Im
mediately arranged that all should hap
pen as she wished. And she did have u
beautiful daughter, a wonderful little
prince.** who, when she grew up, had the
blackest of hair, the whitest of skin,
white her lips were ns red as red could
he." And that’s what the mother of each
princess should lie praying for to-day if
it. Is wiahed that the young lady should
lie a professional beauty. Nobody can de
ny the beauty of black hair, it has a
gloss that te never seen on blonde locks,
and it must be rather nice for the dark
haired girls to know that, if the blondes
are strong mentally, they, the brunettes,
are supposed to know hoW to love well.
Hpeuk'na of colors. Did you know that
the English royal family is the only one
that ha* scarlet for ire househaid colm ?
Th« Portuguese, Prussian and Swerti a
satcraign.*. and indeed moot'of th-- <ter
tnan prUwvs, wear blue. Austria, tiki the
papal court. choses black and yellow.
Ituesla Is In dark green, but Kns!an I
alone flares out In br:ght scarlel. In a
quc**r otd hook Ut th' Kr’.tunh
tlu rv is written out an orflflvinco <>; (
t.meof Qari n 1-Wtal>eth which ta-rmituj
the wive* of the aide: men of »
to IXiflk' in lit# j.** lx J of
V eat‘ng u iMl’acr
“luu* »r-
i uh 4 that <»t ■ ■ .t , '
C. HrDtit* 4 s o.tfXt Ivty fvHT ■
’’’ nXi•rf.'kSTis
his wife a gown of scarlet; and that every
mayor before Michaelmas next after his
election buy for his wife a scarlet gown, ,
upon forfeiture of ten pounds; five pounds
to the use of the town; fifty shillings to .
the poor man’s box; and fifty shillings to
the use of the mayor. And that elr
wives shall wear their gowns at the feasts
following, Christmas day, Easter day, 1
Ascension day, Whitsunday, etc. To for
feit twenty shillings for every default !
five shilling to the poor’s box; five shill- '
ings to the mayor; and ten shillings to 1
tne use of the town.” I wonder how
many women refused to wear tueir gowns 1
on those special holidays? Fancy being
commanded by the queen to wear a red
frock, whether a red frock were becoming
to you or not! Nowadays, lovely woman
would object, and let her husband pay the
flue. Lovely woman must have been
humbler in the days of Queen Elizabeth
than she is now, though, indeed, even
no’v, when she goes to make her bow to
the Queen of England, she has to dress
a. cording to the laws laid down by the
Medes and Persians. And don’t she, nine
times out of ten, look like his. satanic
majesty, with that bunch of feathers
cocked up on her head, and displaying
every bone in her neck in the day time to
a public that is inclined to jeer at her.
The average woman does not look well in
a low bodice during the day. And when
the average woman is the average Eng
lish woman, her neck is a little too apt to
be suggestive of meat sold by the pound
than anything else.
It's beautiful to see with what courage
English women will wear old clothes!
What lessons of economy we could learn
from them. They will cling to an old
gown as if it were a pearl of great price,
and fail to see why it should ever be
given or thrown away. It's queer how
ashamed we are of any economy in which
we indulge. The English woman is the
exact opposite. She is never so well
pleased as when she is telling you that
the dinner dress which she has furbished
up is really several seasons old. As if
you had any doubt of it! When big
sleeves came into vogue, about five years
ago, the average American bodice either
had new, big sleeves put in it, or it dis
appeared with other useless things, into
an innocuous desuetude. But the Eng
lish woman sow no reason why she
should cither alter or throw aside a
bodice that might still be worn, and she
was to be met, traveling all over the coun
try, and looking as funny as possible, in
tight-fitting little sleeves when the women
of all other nations were assuming bal
loons. She is probably just beginning to
wear big sleeves now, for if a fashion
strikes her as good she sticks to it. If
you have any doubt about this statement,
just look at the pictures of the royal la
dies of England, and all the royal rela
tives. Every blessed one of them wears
ofie of those abominable fuzzy « pieces
that comes way down on her forehead,
and doesn’t permit her own hair to show.
The Princess of Wales has to do this, I
am told, because she’s bald, but I have
failed t'o see why all the younger women
need imitate her in this outlandish mode
of arranging somebody else’s hair on
their own, which gives them a stupid,
weary look.
And how an English woman sticks to a
sailor hat! There is no coquetry In her
manner of assuming it. Its tilted well
over her forehead, and gives her a decided
ly hard look. Butt you couldn’t convince
her, no matter how strong your arguments
were, that a sailor hat aid not look well
on a woman past 30, and inclined to be red
faced. The sailor hat belongs only to
youth and beauty. It can never be ex
cused on the head of a woman who looks
over 18. It la true the French milliners
have trimmed the sailor hat almost out
of all recognition, but l's Impossible to
efface that severe line of brim which has
made many a good-looking girl seem hid
eous. We've had a purple winter and
we're going to have a red summer. Well,
a red dress looks very pretty with the
ocean or the mountain as a background.
A red bonnet may be very becoming and
red shoes very coquettish, but there is
one thing hinted at against which every
woman’s hand must be raised, and that
is—red gloves. To have one’s hand to look
as if they had beoen dipped In a dyer’s
vat is not interesting, nor is it attractive.
And a sensible woman wants to be both.
She wants her appearance to attract you.
and her mentality to hold you. Imagine
making love to a woman who presented
you, on departing, with a red gloved hand
to kiss! That would be an abomination.
And abominations and pretty women
ought not to be thought of together. Pret
ty gowns and flowers, becoming bonnets
and fancy shoes, gay parasols and fancy
jewels, all these sound well, and do well
combined with women. But no abomina
tions. They are the sort of things wc
pray to be delivered from. And ocie should
not only pray to be delivered from a pair
of red gloves, but should flee from them
as a terror. Bab.
“TATTERS”
A Journalistic Episode.
From the Now York Tribune.
After baffling the unholy greed of the
train conductor for tickets by flashing an
annual pass In his face, the country edi
tor threw his feet up on the opposite seat
and told the following story:
“Os course. I didn’t escape being a vic
tim of the rage for ’woman's editions’
which swept over the land a few months
ago. The ladles of a local society for the
amelioration of something or other des
cended upon me and I surrendered, took
two pipes, a pound of smoking tobacco
and a fishing-rod and decamped, leaving
'The Budget’ in their charge for one week,
with the privilege of making all they could
out of It. My printer was supposed to ’
slay, but, being by classification a tramp,
and having a heavy board bill hanging
over his head by a single hair, he cm- i
braced the opportunity, two hours after I |
had gone, to walk away down the railroad
track. This left the mechanical end of
the office at the mercy of the ‘devil,’ an
inky imp called ’Tatters.’ The ladles were
I a good deal disturbed at the defection of
the printer hut bravely decided to go ahead
I with Titters and get out the paper. They
called him In to give him some instruc
tions. >lo stood before them wearing, as
usual, a long apron stiff with ink. paste
and unknown substances; the only thing
which saved his face from being in the
tattle condition ns his apron was the fact
that hr was In the habit of constantly
twisting ft Into so many shapes that the
Ink. paste and unknown substance* on it
I never had time to stiffen. His hair poiat-
I od In all directions, lik- that of u jnck-in
| the-box. anil in his left hand he carried
| a so tlon of a column es wet type.
’’ ’What are you doing. TattersT inquir- I
• > fl The l‘».|y ho was president us the amelio- ;
I ration roctety, with some dignity.
“•Thronin’ in.’ answertd the Imjx
• ... j
THE WEEKLY NEWS (TWO-TIMES-A-WEEK) THURSDAY, MARCH 25,189<.
“ ’lnto what?’
" ‘The case. Think I was throwin’ it
Into my hat?’ -
“The lady looked at him coldly, and he
went on:
“ ’But I’m ’most through, and you’ll hear
me hollerin’ for copy in 'bout a quarter of
a nour,’ and he retreated into the compos
ing-room and slammed the door.
“The ladies were indignant, but there
was clearly nothing to do but to grin and
bear it. A few minutes later there came
a most dtemal, long-drawn wail from the
other room, which, after some effort, they
managed to interpret as the promised ‘hol
lerin’.’ It was followed by the appearance
of Tatters’ head at the door.
“ ‘What is it?’ asked the president, who
had been chosen editor-in-chief, a little
sharply.
“ ‘Copy!’ returned Tatters. 'Did you
think I was singing the Doxolergy?’
“ ‘There is no copy ready yet. Can’t you
be doing something else?’
“ ‘I can that!’ and he snatched off his
apron and started for the door. ‘I can be
going fishing just as easy as not.’
“ ‘Tatters!’ cried the frightened editor,
springing before the door, ‘don’t you dare
to desert us! You stay here till some copy
is ready for you.’
“Tattters retreated and put on his apron
in an agitated frame of mind.
A moment later one of the younger la
dies, who had been appointed managing
editor, took a roll of daintily written man
uscript from her handbag arid said:
“ ‘Here, Tatters, is something which you
can begin on.’
“Tatters took it, sniffed, glanced at it
and said:
“ ‘What is it—spring poetry?”
"No, it’s the essay that I read at
commencement. We shall put it on the
fourth page.’
“ ‘What! the editorial page?’ shrieked
Tatters. ‘Put such guff as that on the
editorial page of "The Budget!” Not
much,’ and he tossed the manuscript on
the table.
“ ‘We shall certainly do as we see fit,’
interposed the editor-in-chief, with great
dignity.
“ ‘I resign!’ cried Tatters, again tearing
off his apron and throwing it behind him,
where it struck in the city editor’s lap,
greatly to her dismay. ‘I resign my po
sish, that’s all. Here, if you want it in
ink. gimme a pen. Lemma write it out in
black n’ white—" Dear Madam: I hereby
resign my posish. (Signed) Tetters.”
Gimme a pen, I say!’
“ ‘Tatters, be calm—act reasonable,’ said
the editor-in-chief, in a soothing tone.
‘What shall we put on the editorial page?’
“ ‘Editorials, of course,’ he answered,
slightly mollified.
“ ‘On what subject?’ i
•• ‘Tariff ’n’ the currency.’
“ ’But we don’t know anything about
the tariff and the currency.’
“ 'Neither does the boss, but he writes
two columns ’bout ’em every week. But
if you can’t do it, write about bikes.’
“This struck the ladies favorably, and
one of them began writing an article on
the bicycle craze, while the city editor
handed Tatters an item, which he took,,
wrinkling up his nose and remarking that
‘her question-marks look like button
hooks,’ and retreated to the composing
room.
"For the rest of the day they kept him
pretty well supplied with work. When
not so provided he spent his time perched
on a high stool blowing a wheezy mouth
organ, and occasionally shouting “copy!"
in an agonized tone. Once or twice
something offended him and he threatened
to resign, but, as the ladles Immeditaely
surrendered, nothing came of it.
“The next two days passed in a some
what uneventful manner. By giving him
plenty of work he was kept reasonably
quiet. There was not much trouble
Thursday, either, though shortly after
noon he set up a loud roar, saying that
he had been taken suddenly sick and
was In mortal agony. The ladies
asked him if they could not do something
for him,' but he only howled the louder,
and Anally lay down on the floor upon bte
back and began pounding the boards
fiercely with his head, A doctor was
called, but as soon as Tatters saw him
he got up quickly and went back to work.
“ ’What’s the trouble with you, young
mail?” inquired the doctor.
" ’Antimony poison from the xype,’ an
swered Tatters, dismally. ‘l’ll go off
some day with it just like—scat! All good
printers die of it sooner or later.
"Tatters may have told the truth about
his Illness, but I learned later on that
he had eaten his hatful of green apples
at noontime, and you can draw your own
conclusions. /
"Friday was press' day, and the ladies
arrived at the office early. Tatters rush
ed into the front room and addressing
himself confidentially to the city editor,
said:
“ ‘Say, want a bully item of news?”
“ ‘Why, yes, Tatters, of course; what is
it?”
“ ‘Dog-fight,’ answered Tatters. ’Jim
Beasley’s dog and Deacon Ketcham’s.
Down by the postofflee. The deacon didn't
want his dog to fight, but Jim didn’t care.
Set down and get your pencil—tell you all
about it. You sec the dogs met, and Jim’s
dog sort of walked around the Deacon’s
dog Once or—what’s the matter? Ain’t you
going to use It?”
"The editor said she thought not.
" ‘What!’ cried Tatters In consternation,
‘nothing about It, after I watched it and
got all the facts for you?”
“ ‘No, I don’t think we care for it.’
“ ‘Now, see here.’ said Tatters, dropping
his voice into a still more confidential tone,
‘act reasonable, as you say to me. I saw
last night your paper was going to be dull,
that It needed livening up—’tain’t all your
fault, it’s a dead week—l saw this, I say,
and what do you think I did this mornihg,
just to help you out?”
” ’I don’t know, Tatters—what was it?”
“Tatters came closer, sank his voice al
most to a whisper, and said:
" 'I drove the Deacon’s dog around to
the place and then I sicked Jim's onto
him. All to give you an item!"
"The lady was deeply touched by his de
votion, and said as much, but was forced
to add that they could not mention a
common dog-flglit In their edition.
"Tatters drew back and stood silently
gazing at her. She expected nothing less
than a final resignation on the spot. But
his face showed sorrow rather than anger.
The young lady thought she detected a
tear, but this is not probable. For a
half-minute he did not move, then he
ea id:
“ 'You couldn’t use it in a funny way,
either, I s'spose? It was funny. The
deacon pulled on his dog’s tail, and Jim
pulled on his dog's tall, though Jim didn't
do any hard pulling—Jim may have pushed
: a little when the deacon wasn’t noticing.
Secret of Beauty
’ is health. The secret of health is
the power to digest and assim
ilate a proper quanitv of food.
This can never oone when
the liver does not act it’s part .
Do you know this ?
Tutt’s Liver Pills are an abso
! lute cure for sick headache, dys
j pepsia, sour stomach, malaria,
constipation, torpid liver, piles,
jaundice, bilious fever, bilious
ness and kindred diseases.
] Tutt’s Liver Pills
You wouldn’t let me write it up, either,
I s’pose?’
“ ‘No, Tatters; I’d like to, but I can’t.’
"Tatters turned back to the composing
room, and not a sound was heard from
him except the steady click of his type
for an hour.
"It was about 11 o’clock when the edit
or-in-chief came into the office and said
tq the city editor:
“ T think there is an item of news for
us out at Tarbox’s, on the Coopersville
road. I hear that Mr. Tarbox has been in
jured by an unruly cow. It’s only a mile
and a half out thfere—can’t you go out
on your bicycle and get the particulars?’
“There was a loud shout behind them,
and Tatters burst in and ran through the
room, shedding his apron in his flight,
and saying:
“TH tend to that, girls! I’m the wild
cow edltot of this paper! Back in ten
minutes!’ i
“The editor-in-chief ran to the window
and looked down into the street.
“ ‘Goodness gracious!’ she cried to the
other; “there he goes on your bicycle, rid
ing like the wind and shouting for every
body to get out of the way of the wild-cow
editor. What shall wc do now?”
“ ‘l’ll see if I can’t catch him on your
bicycle. And I’ll go on and find out about
the accident, anyhow. ’
“But, though she was a good rider, she
might as well have tried to overtake an
express train as the wild-cow editor. Lean
ing over the handle-bar and ringing the
bell constantly, he never slackened his
pace for the whole distance. When she
arrived at Tarbox’s she found that he had
got the.facts, gone down a lane and start
ed back by another road. She saw Mr. Tar
box got his story of the occurrence, and
returned herself. Tatters was in the office,
looking innocent, and hard at work.
“ ‘Don’t say anything to him,’ was the
advice or the others. ‘He’ll surely resign
if you do.’
"She wrote a paragraph about the acci
dent, and it was sent into Tatters with the
last of the copy. In a few minutes he came
out, holding the sheet of manuscript in his
hand.
“ ‘See here,’ he said; ‘are you going to
print such stuff as this about that cow
fight?”
“ ’What is it, Tatters?’ asked the editor
in-chief.
“ ‘Just listen,’ answered Tatters. ‘She
says: “Yesterday afternoon Brookdale’s
worthy milkman, Mr. Tarbox, had a nar
row escape. He had just separated a calf
from its mother, when the latter became
enraged and attacked him with her horns.
He was badly shaken up, but escaped se
rious injury.” Do you hear that?’
“ ‘Yes. It seems to me all right. Put it
in just as it is.*
“Tatters uttered a howl, ‘I re’— Then
he paused and was silent He looked at
the floor for a full minute, he said:
‘No. I’ll stick to it. After all I’ve lived
through this week, it’s too late to go now.’
He went back to the other room and re
sumed his work.
“It was after supper that night before
they got to press, but with the prospect of
a good sum for ameliorating the unamelio
rated heathen, the ladies did not complain.
Tatters’ friend, Jim Beasley, had been en
gaged to come in and turn the crank of
the press, while Tatters himself fed in the
blank sheets and superintended the work.
He seemed remarkably meek and pleas
ant, and the ladies all observed that they
had not seen him in so amiable a frame
of mind during the whole week. ‘The bi
cycle ride did Tatters good,’ they remark
ed. He appeared, however, to be in a great
hurry, and constafitly urged Jim to turn
faster, and advised the iadies to make
haste with the folding and get the papers
ready‘for the postoffice.
“It was a little before 11 .o’clock that the
edition was finished, and Tatters began
taking the forms off the
press. The ladies were in the front room.
The editor-in-chief was glancing over the
paper.
“ ‘I don’t see that item about Mr. Tar
box," she said.
“The city edl’or opened another copy
and began to run her eye down the col
umns. Suddenly she exclaimed:
“ ‘Why, what’s this down in the cor
ner?’
“ ‘What is it?’ cried the others in
chorus. She read aloud:
" ’Terrible Accident.—Yesterday fore
noon, as old Bill Tarbox, the milkman,
went into the barnyard to put a new
handle on his pump, the old one being
entirely worn out, he was attacked by a
wild Texas cow. The critter had hydro
phobia and was gnashing her teeth like
a hyena and bellowing like an elephant.
She was a large cow, higher than a horse,
and had horns 'most a rod long. Tar
box fit her with the handle, but she tossed
him fifty feet into the air, and then
caught him on the fly and h’isted him up
again. This time he lit in a tree and was
rescued by the hook ladder company.
The cow jumped a sixteen-foot fence .and
took to the woods. The mad-cow edi
tor of The Budget followed her, and last
saw her tearing up large hemlock trees
with her horns. Tarbox is not expected
to live. Full account of an interesting
and important dog fight next week.’
“The ladies ran into the back room, but
Tatters had escaped through the back
door.
“I got home the next day and resumed
charge of The Budget. But Tatters’ item
was a good thing for charity, after all,
because, on account of it, a great many
people bought the paper who would not
otherwise have done so.”
THE DOCTOR’S BIG PATIEXT.
He Was a Giant in Size, But a Baby
When It Came to Suffering.
From the Detroit Free Press.
It was after the medical association had
adjourned the other night that the gruff
old doctor called several of his professional
brethren into a corner and told his story.
“Never had a pleasanter case in my life,"
he chuckled. “You know what a big,
powerful fellows Sems is. Never was
sick a day and has always derided the idea
that pain was a thing to make such a fuss
over as is made by some people. Even his
wife and children never got any sympathy
from him and he was always ready to
give them a good going over for not dis
playing more stoicism.
“Tuesday morning about 2 o’clock there
was a terrific ringing at my telephone. On
answering it I was urged by an
voice to hasten to Sems as quickly as pos
sible. It was a case of life and death. Get
ting there post haste 1 found that great
big fellow walking the floor in hts night
robe, groaning so that he could be heard
anywhere in the block, looking pale as a
ghost, and stopping every few minutes to
held up one foot while he howled. His
head was enveloped in towels and one side
of it steamed with hot poultices. He sail
ed into me for not getting there sooner,
said half the people died while waiting for
a doctor, jawed his wife because she hadn’t
sense enough to tell him that he had no
slippers on, and then told her to call a
lawyer so he could put his affairs into
.shape. I vetoed this until we found out
whether there was anything the matter.
“ ‘Anything the matter?* echoed Sems.
‘Great heavens, man. the side of my head's
coming off. I can’t last till daylight in
this torture. No mortal ever suffered such
agony. If you’re going to do anything, do
it quick. My own opinion is that I'm
done for,’ and he let out the loudest howl
of the night. What do you think was the
matter with a big calf? Earache; just
common, old-fr.shioned earache. His lit
tle girl had had it worse and gone to school
with a piece of cotton in her ear. I fixed
him up and then told him If he happened
to prick hts finger with a pin or bump his
shin against a chair, not to hesitate to call
I me out of bed, even if there was a bliz
• ward.” 1
THE SAILORS’ GRAVEYARD.
WHERE THE ANGRY SEA BEATS
UPOLN CAPE COD SHORE.
Millions of Treasure and Thousands
of Lives Have Been Swallowed by
the Surging Waves.
Boston Globe.
Stretching away seaward into the Atlan
tic from the mainland of Massachusetts
lies the storm-swept and, sea-washed
coast of Cape Cod along whose sands are
scattered the broken timbers of many a
noble ship, and in whose icy waters hun
dreds of brave men have met the embrace
of death.
From Monomoy Point, at Chatham, on
the south, to Race Point, on the north, a
reach of 40 miles, the cape winds in a
curve to the west, with a curve like a bent
finger at the end, marking the entrance to
Provincetown harbor.
Not a rock shows upon this waste of
storm-beaten, coast, only the white, glis
tening sands, with the sea gulls soars
above them. No jutting headlands or out
lying shoals breaJc the fury of the sea.
Gales which blow from any point between
northeast and southeast drive great foam
crested billows shoreward until they break
with a mighty roar against the high clay
clifts at Truro or sweep with irresistible
force across the sand dunes at Province
town. On all the rugged New England
coast no spot has greater terrors for the
mariner than this arm of shifting sands.
It is not inaptly called the "sailor’s grave
yard.”
Since that bleak December day when the
Mayflower rounded Race Point and drop
ped anchor in Provincetown harbor, mil
lions of treasures and thousands of human
lives have been swallowed up in the mad
sea, which has beaten their ships into
shapeless heaps of wreckage and washed
the maimed bodies of their crews along
the cruel undertow.
As a little boy the writer stood with his
mother on the high cliffs overlooking the
sea. It was an April morning in 1842.
Tnere had been a terrible storm. Out on
the bar lay the ship Josephus. She was a
British ship. Her cargo was iron rails.
Her hull was shattered, and her torn sails
arid broken spars swayed and thrashed
about her sides. Clinging desperately to
their frail support among the tangled
wreckage were her crew. One after an
other the boy saw them drop exhausted
into the seething sea. Their last despair
ing cries were borne to our ears by the
paging gale. On the shore stood a group
of interested spectators, helpless to render
aid.
At last two of their number, Daniel
Cassiday and Jonathan Collins, sprang to
a fisherman’s dory, the only boat upon the
beach at the time, saying, as they dragged
it to the surf: “We can stand this no lon
ger, we are going to try; it can only cost
us opr lives.”
In the face of the earnest entreaties of
friends, and In the almost certain assur
ance that they were going to their death,
they pushed off. 'For half the distance to
the wreck all went well, then a monstrous
sea bore the frail boat upon Its crest, one
instant more and the under roll of the sea
had buried boat and crew beneath its
green folds. Just once the heads of the
two brave men appeared abot)e the sea,
then disappeared forever.
A fair day in January, 1820, three ships
amid the cheers and good wishes of
friends, sailed gayly out of the harbor of
Salem, bound for the West Indies. At
daylight the next morning they were be
ing pounded to pieces in the surf on the
outside of Cape God.
In December, 1837, a brig loaded with
molasses was caught in a gale off the
Highlands. Her crew, finding that she
must go ashore, fastened the wheel firmly
amidships and took to the rigging. The
vessel’s decks were constantly swept by
the sea as she drove over the bar. Every
thing was washed from her decks. With
the debris that came floating ashore was a
live pig, none the worse for his cold
swim. The sea, which swept the brig’s
decks, changed her course, a reefed main
sail, foretopsail and jib caught the gale,
and then for miles she sped along up the
coast, with no hand at the helm, aqd only
a few rods from shore, between two lines
of breakers, until she Anally passed out
by Race Point. But her crew were freez
ing, and could not regain the deck, and the
same night she went to pieces on the
rocks at Cohasset.
After the life saving stations were com
pleted, and a few weeks before they were
manned, a terrible storm broke over the
North Atlantic. Coming down the south
channel, on a voyage from the East In
dies to Boston, was the American ship Pe
ruvian and the North German bark Fran
cis. They were caught in the furious hur
ricane, and when the morning dawned they
were battered wrecks upon Cape Cod. The
latter did not at the time break up, and
her officers and crew were rescued by a
volunteer crew under Capt. E. P. Worthen,
the present keeper of the Highland station.
Os the Peruvian’s crew of twenty-four of
ficers and men not oije lived to tell the
tale.
Her commander, Capt. Vanner, had
spent many years of his life ft sea. This,
he had decided, should be his last voyage.
A young lady among the granite hills of
New Hampshire was awaiting his return
to become his bride. At the threshold of
his home and hopes, his sad end adds
another page to that great book of sorrow
which the relentless sea is writing every
day.
During a fearful blizzard, on the night
of March 8, 1872, the schooner Clara Belle,
90a! laden, while trying to weather the
cape, stranded off High Head. Capt.
Amsbery and crew of six men immediate
ly launched their boat and attempted to
land. The frail cockle-shell bad not gone
fifty yards from the vessel when it capsiz
ed, throwing the men into the ice cold
surf.
John Silva, one of the crew, was fortu
nate to reach the shore alive. There was
no life-saving stations then. Silva found
himself alone on a frozen beach. Beyond
lay snow-covered hills and marshes. Dup
his struggle to gain the shore he had
lost one of his boots from his foot. The
mercury stood at zero. The fierce gale
blew the fast falling snow about him. He
started landward with the hope of finding
some human habitation. It was then mid
night. When the morning came, a farm
er, going to feed his cattle, found this poor
sailor standing’dazed, hatless, bare-foot
ed, helpless in the street, three miles from
the scene of the disaster. He was taken '
into the house and cared for. He recover
ed, but his bitter experience cost him sev
eral toes and fingers.
The bodies of the other members of the
unfortunate crew were found many miles
down the coast. A singular fact in con
nection with this disaster was that men
who boarded the wreck later in the day,
when she had driven over the bar upon
the main beach, found a warm fire in the
cabin and everything dry and snug below.
CONSUMPTION
To the Epttor : I have an absolute Cure for
CONSUMPTION and all Bronchial, Throat and
Lung Troubles, and all conditions of Wasting
Away By its timely use thousands of apparent
lv hopeless cases have been permanently cured.
' So proof-positive am I of its power to cure. I
will send FREE to anyone afflicted, THREE
BOTTLES of my Newly Discovered Remedies,
upon receipt of Express and Postoffice address.
Always sincerely yours,
T. A. SLOCUM, M.C.. 18* Pearl St., New York.
Vhea »nuq Xtoctor, pteaae menuoc this paper.
Grin and bear it
That’s what you’ll have to do, if your
v housework tires you out and. you won’t
MJ* K J take away th® hardest P art °f with
Pearline. That’s what women have
to do for 10, these,thousands of years.
Pearline has done, and is aoing,
moro to %hten and brighten
7 / \ \ \ woman’s work than any other
' I V>* > thing. Jt saves her time,
her money, her health and strength, in hundreds of ways,
Do every bit of your washing and cleaning with sss
Their haste to leave their ship had cost
the crew their lives.
The schooner J. H. Eels foundered on
the outer bar oft Nauset on the morning
of the 15th of March, 1887, and for a •
whole day and night her crew clung to
the spars that 'protruded a little above
the swirl of the waves until frozen and
exhausted, the captain dropped into the
sea. Two sailors were Rescued by a pass
ing tug the next day. Brave efforts were
made by the life-saving crew of Orleans
station to reach the wreck in their surf
boat, they could not cross the bar in such
a sea as broke over it A shot line from
a large gun belonging to the Massachu
setts Humane Society sent a line between
the schooner’s masts, but her crew were
too much exhausted to draw the run
ring gear of the breeches buoy on board.
From the rigging of thoechooner Job H.
Jackson, which stranded on Peaker Hill
bars on the night of Jan. 5, 1895, her crew
were rescued after herculean efforts by
the united work of the crews of Peaked
Hills, Race Point and High Head stations.
The sailors were frostbitten and hblpless
when taken off. The lose of the ship
Jason off Truro on the night of Dec. 5,
1893, was accompanied with a terrible loss
of life. Twenty-six men went down with
the ship. One man alone of all the ship’s
company gained the shore. This ship
struck at 7 p. m., and though compara
tively a new vessel and built of iron,
tn four hours after her keel touched the
sand her spars were gone, her decks were
washing out and her crew had been swept
away. Iron ships are but playthings in
the grasp of the storm-stirred ocean.
The schooner Daniel B. Fearing, coal
laden, struck the outer bar off Welfleet
on the morning of Majt 6, 1896, during a
thick fog, which speedily developed into
a howling gale, which swept in from the
sea.
At daylight Capt. Daniel Cole and crew
of Cahoons Hollow station reached the
wreck in their surfboat. As the last man
of the Fearing’s crew leaped from her
rigging into the lifeboat the schooner’s
masts fell with a crash, and in fifteen
minutes she was a submerged wreck, over
which it the wild breakers rushed furi
ously. It was a creditable piece of work
upon the part of the life-savers.
The stranding of the sloop C. E. Trum
bull on Peaked Hill bars on the night of
Nov. 30, 1880, was attended with one of
the most sorrowful accidents in the his
tory of the service. Capt. David H. At
kins and three of his crew were drowned
by the upsetting of their boat while mak
ing a heroic effort to rescue the crew of
the sloop. There was no telephone service
between the stations then, and the first
intimation of the terrible disaster was
earned to the next station below (the
Highland) by Patrolman Levi S. Small,
who found the body of Capt. Atkins wash
ing up In the surf.
Capt. Worthen of the Highland station,
who, with his men, recovered the bodies
of the surtmen Taylor and Mayo of the
lost crew, had as a surfman with him Al
bert Atkifis, a son of Capt. David Atkins,
and only a few hours before, on his pa
trol, ho had passed over the very spot
where his father’s body was found. Sad,
indeed, are the tragedies of the sea and
coast. Besides Capt. Atkins there were in
the boat with him Elisha M. Taylor, Ste
phen F. Mayo, Charles P. Kelley, Isaiah
Young and Samuel O. Fisher.
Surfman John L. Cole was left on the
beach, charged with the duty of keeping a
burning lantern in sight and to watch
for the return of the boat. Young, who
with Kelley and Fisher swam ashore, told
the following story of the awful affairs:
“I pulled the starboard bow oar, double
banked with Mayo. Taylor pulled the
stroke. The vessel headed northeast. Her
mainmast stood full, and had in two reefs,
with sheet half way out, and she was roll
ing the boom in the water to the slings.
We went up under her stern, a little out
on her quarter,, and then threw a line,
which the people on board made fast, I
think to the main sheet bitts. We hauled
up from the boat until the bow lapped onto
her quarter. Keeper Atkins called to them
to jump in. They threw in a jacket, then
a clothes bag. Capt. Atkins said to them:
‘We are not here to get your baggage, get
in yourselves.'
“I was holding the boat clear of the
vessel with a lifehook, and four of the
sloop’s crew came into the boat with a.
rush; one of them fell on me, and the boat
hook broke or twisted off in the socket,
and we swung under her counter. Keeper
Atkins shouted to the men on board to
cast off the line; they did not! then he
cried ’cut,’ and they let us go. We land
ed the four sailors. *The second time we
went off we approached her more ath
warthships. As we got quite near a sea
swept us back; we pulled up again.
“Keeper Atkins shouted: ’Cut that main
sheet.' But it was not done by those on
board. Taylor stood in the bow with line
ready to throw. I was holding the boat
hook, when a sea came around the stern,
threw the boat toward the vessel’s boom
as she rolled to leaward. Taylor dodged
as the boom came down. As the,vessel
rolled back to windward and the boom rose
it caught under therock belt, near the
stroke rowlock of our boat and threw her
instantly bottom up. The gunwale came
down on my back, and I got a clip in the
side.
“I crawled to the bottom of the over
turned boat; all got up on the boat. We
drifted to the westward with the tide. I
asked Mayo for a chew of tobacco; he teqk
a piece from his pocket and handed me; V
bit off a piece and it braced me some. We
finally rolled the boat right side up. J
think ali got into her, but she only stayed
up two minutes when a sea rolled us over
again. We got on and were washed off
several times before 1 struck out for the
shrre. I asked Mayo to come with me, but
-h~ said: 'I couldn’t hold out to reach the
suore.’ Keeper Atkins was clinging to the
boat; Kelley and Fisher had already
struck out for the beach. I heard Taylor
groaning, but could not see him.
"I headed dowrf the beach, so as to swim
with the tide and sea; I tried to kick my
boots off but could not. As 1 swam I heard
the morning train for Boston going out
from Provincetown over the state dike.
At one time I appeared to see the captain
of the schooner Powwow, who was lost
near Station No. 9 in 1878. I helped to lay
out his body.
“I was growing weaker. I saw a gap In
the beach as I rose on the sea. When near
the shore I became blind; but I kept
swimming. I felt myself whirled over in |
the undertow, and knew I was in the
swash of the shore. When my hands
struck the sand I held on. When the sea ,
ran down I crawled out a little on the
beach. Then I heard Surfman Cole say;
‘For God’s sake, is this you, Isaiah?’
"And of his taking me up 1 knew noth
ing more until I found myself in the sta
tion. 1 think if the boat had beat over the
bar we could have bailed her out.”
It is probable but for the attempt upon
~ '■ : ,/*■
the part of the sloop’s crew to save a few
bundles of old clothes these men would
not have been drowned.
Surfmen Kelley and Fisher were after
ward appointed keepers of High Head
and Race Point stations respectively, and
have passed through many thrilling bat
tles with the surf in the saving of human
life.
Highland Light stands on the bluff at
North Truro, and is 195 feet above the
level of the sea. From its tower to lamp
flashes its lighted rays thirty miles sea
ward. Three keepers stand alternate
watches of three hours each, through ev
ery night in the year, that the lamp may;
be kept trimmed and burning.
NINETY DAYS ON A RUDDER.
'
Cat Kicked Into the Sea. Refuses tq
Go to the Bottom.
Portland (Ore.) Letter in Chicago Chron
icle.
The remarkable story about the Ameri
can ship Iroquois picking a live frog oft
a cloud in mid-ocean excited a murmur
of comment along the water front tb-day.
but Capt. Taylor’s reputation for veracity
is too well established for any one to doubt
what he says. The story brought to the
mind of Al Betts, the pilot, a strange event
which came under hia observation. He
said:
“I remember an Occurrence on board the
old clipper Plumduff which was so re
markable that I am frequently accused of
handling the truth in a careless manner
when I relate it. The Plumdutt was ep
route from Calcutta for the Columbia, in
ballast, and I was first mate under Capt.
Timbertoes. Among other live stock
aboard was a Maltese cat. The oat be
haved very well for the first week or two,
but when we got over on the equator she
made the night hideous with her incessant
yowling. Old Timbertoes had the gout and
did not sleep well anyway, and this inflic
tion nearly made him crazy, so one night
he came out, and, finding the cat in a
good, convenient position, kicked her over
into the sea.
“The only witness to the deed was a las
car sailor at the wheel, and when he told
the rest of the crew we almost had a
mutiny on our hands, as they prophesied
all sorts of bad luck would happen to the
ship. Nothing came of it, however, and,
as we were in good ballast trim, we came
flying along in rattling shape, and about
ninety days after leaving the Ganges our
mudhook went down in Astoria harbor. In
due season the custom house boat came
out, and when the officers clambered
aboard, Denny Curran, the boatman,
slacked away on his lanyard and hf» boat
dropped around under the stern. A mo
ment later we heard a yell, and Denny
was coming up the ladder hand over hand
as though the devil was after him, and
in his boat, making a united chorus of
‘meows,’ was our Maltese cat and five
half-grown kittens.
“When Denny recovered hie breath he
stated that, as his boat swung around
under the stern, the animals immediately
sprang off the top of the rudder, and the
unusual sight nearly frightened him to
death. We then went back and made an
examination of the rudder, and found that
with her claws the abandoned cat had
scratched a cavity out of the top of the
rudder, and, while the lascar sailors had
been mouring her death, she was engaged
in rearing a family. The rudder being
high out of the water, of course prevented
her getting wet very often, "and a number
of fish bones still reposing in the cavity
indicated the diet which had kept her
alive. She was taken ashore, and I think,
Scott Johnson, the Astoria stevedore, has
some of her descendants yet, and to this
day they will eat nothing but sea fish.
“Yes, some strange things happen at
sea and a man who has been there ought
to be prepared to believe almost anything
he hears regarding it.’’
The Cost of Strikes.
From the Arena.
For the strikes that occurred from 1881
to 1886, inclusive, the wage loss by em
ployes is estimated by the United States
commissioner of labor at $51,814,000, and the
employer’s losses estimated by the same
authority at $30,701,000. And the trouble
is not growing less as the years go by.
From 1741 to 1880, inclusive, there were
1,491 strikes and lockouts; while for the
six years ending Dec. 31, 1886, the number
of strikes alone was 3,9o2—forty a year
for the first period, and over 650 a year for
the second period. Making all due allow
ance for fuller reporting of strikes in the
latter period, the contrast is still a start
ling one.
Surely it is cheaper as well as more just
to settle by court than by strike. At pres
ent we pay for the strike first, then we pay,
for a commission to examine into its causes
and results; let us have the inquiry flrat,
and save the expense of the strike.
■mfip 6*-Page Medical Reference
IDLL Bonk
r" i* i a For men and women afflicted
1 11 Ld Im with any form of private dis
eases peculiar to their sex, er.
rors of youth, contagious diseases, female
troubles, etc. Send two 2-cent stamps to pay
postage to the leading specialists and physV
ci ans of this country.
DK, HATHAWAY & CO.,
22% South Broad St.. Atlanta. Oa.
OUR NEW
Spring; Catalogue (Illustrated) Em
titled “What to Wear” is notv
ready. Call or write us for
same. Free on Appli
cation.
HtMlh Ml* GO,
One Price Clothiers, Hatters and Men
Furnishers,
159 Broughton st., 3d door east Barnard.
SAVA!WYAH,-GA.
MAIL ORDERS SOLICITED.
To responsible parties we ehip goods C.
O. D. with privilege of examining and re- '
turning if not satisfactory.
MeiroDolilon fflßj ft
Savannah, Ga.
7